


Tradition

by ImagineBeatles



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: When John and Paul are in Scotland, visiting relatives of John, Paul decides to wear a kilt, as it is tradition. John, however, can’t keep his hands off him.





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr in 2017

It was a surprisingly sunny day, which was rare in rainy Scotland even during summer. John was lying in the middle of the lawn, drinking lemonade as he stared up at the clear blue sky above them, sunglasses on his nose. This was how he liked to spend his holidays, lying on dry grass, which tickled his bare feet, and a soft breeze caressing his skin as he enjoyed the quiet around him. No stupid aunt, yelling at him to finally do something with his life, no chores, no responsibilities. Just him and Paul, finally alone and away from any curious eyes, especially Mike’s. The kid was definitely starting to notice something. It didn’t matter how many times Paul would assure him he was too busy with his own love life to stick his nose in theirs. Speaking of Paul, where was he?

John had tried his hardest to get Paul to come to Scotland with him this summer. Until his fifteenth birthday, he had spend every summer with his Aunt and cousin in Scotland. Not that he had enjoyed it all that much, seeing as his cousin was quite a couple of years older than him and there was hardly anything to do, since the nearest town was a twenty minute drive away. But still he had missed the peace and quiet, so he had asked Paul to come with him this year. Convincing Paul to come had been easy, but convincing his father had been more tricky. Jim McCartney wasn’t exactly happy with the friendship between the two boys, feeling like John was a terrible influence on his oldest son. But somehow, with some help from John’s aunt Mimi, they had been able to change the man’s mind. That did not mean, however, that Paul could just leave John alone all day. He was here with him, damn it!

As it happened though, Paul seemed to love the country way of living. He was more than eager to help out with anything his aunt would be needing to do, which resulted in her absolutely adoring the seventeen-year-old. He helped her with pretty much anything and was polite and good company. To John’s surprise, however, even Stanley seemed to like Paul, taking him for a ride on his motorcycle. If John could recall correctly, his aunt had asked Paul to help her and Stanley clean out the attic during breakfast, which was the last time John had seen his boyfriend. But that had been ages ago! Surely they didn’t have that much junk!

From out of nowhere, a shadow fell over him, which shouldn’t be possible as there wasn’t a cloud in the sky on this fair morning. Frowning, he rolled on his stomach to see who it was, ready to growl at the person who had decided to stand between him and that wonderfully warm golden sunlight. His jaw dropped at the sight before him before he could say anything, however.

“Hey luv! So? What do you think?” Paul asked as he looked down at himself, smoothing out his… his… fuck. John could hardly believe his eyes. Paul was wearing a _skirt_! A plaid one, reaching to just above his knees. It was a dark shade of green with grey and dark red and it made Paul’s hazel eyes appear even greener in the sunlight. Below it, he wore socks that went over his calves. If John was honest with himself, he didn’t know whether to laugh or whistle appreciatively.

“Looks good, eh?” Paul asked, smiling broadly. John, however, was completely dumb-folded.

“Y-you’re wearing a… skirt?” John asked him, looking up at Paul, utterly shocked and confused. Paul laughed at that shook his head.

“It’s not a skirt, John! It’s a kilt. It’s tradition.” Paul told him, sounding incredibly happy with his fashion choice. John, however, was even more confused.

“But… you’re not even Scottish!”

“I’ve got family in Scotland, I have you know! Besides, I like it!” Paul said with a small giggle as he made a little twirl, causing the material to sway flirtatiously around Paul’s legs. John swallowed thickly at the sight as more of Paul’s pale flesh was exposed. His fingers twitched with the need to touch.

“You’re not planning on wearing that all day, are you?” He asked, his voice much tighter than he would have liked. Paul stopped twirling and looked down at John, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure something out about him. John tried not to squirm under his boyfriend’s penetrative stare, and kept his eyes locked onto Paul’s, refusing to look down. Finally, Paul looked away.

“Yes, I am!” He exclaimed, offering John his hand, “Now, come on. I’ve promised your aunt we would bake a cake while she goes into town to pick up a few things. Besides, Stanley is going to mown the lawn, so you might want to get out of his way if you don’t want to injure yourself.” John took it and blushed as he felt the need to pull Paul down on top of him instead and have his straddle his thighs, his skirt- kilt- falling around his thighs. He could already imagine himself moving his hand up Paul’s bare leg, fingers moving under the boy’s kilt to find… what? underwear? Skin? Fuck…

Before he knew what was happening he was being dragged inside. He couldn’t help but look down to see how the kilt rid up Paul’s legs as he ran, exposing more and more of that pure white skin. He sighed in disappointment when they came to a halt and the kilt went down again without any extra help from either Paul or him. He would have liked an excuse to touch. Still, he did get a small peck on the lips, before Paul hurried into the kitchen, expecting John to follow him, which John did, if only for that piece of sinful clothing. _That_  could not be traditional.

            As the pair stood in the kitchen, baking a cake like Paul had promised, John made sure to stand as close to Paul as possible without it getting obvious. He was shuffling uncomfortably on his feet as he willed his hands to stay by his side and not to slide of to Paul’s inviting body. Truth be told, he had been semi-erect since he had first laid his eyes on Paul and to see him slightly bend over the kitchen counter to reach for another egg, exposing more of his bare thighs under that kilt, wasn’t exactly helping that little problem. If they had been alone he wouldn’t have thought twice. He’d pick Paul up, place him on the said counter and fuck him right there and then in that stupid kilt of his. Only, Stanley was mowing the lawn and he liked taking short breaks every so often, and they could not afford him walking in on then. Besides, Paul would probably think it was insanitary to fuck in a kitchen.

“John!” Paul suddenly shouted at him. John looked up from where he had been staring at Paul’s arse in that kilt, asking himself how it was he looked that good in it. He blushed slightly when he saw Paul grinning knowingly at him. Still, he looked a little pissed off, as well.

“What?” John muttered, trying to play it off.

“Get me the milk, would you?” Paul asked him and John nodded before grabbing some milk from the fridge and handing it to him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down again, though.

“Where did you get that thing, anyway?” He asked, biting his lower lip. He glanced up to see Paul had turned back to the mixture, adding some more milk as he stirred with powerful moves. He didn’t have to ask to know what John was talking about.

“It used to be Stanley’s. It’s too short for him now, though, so your aunt let me have it.” He explained and John nodded, unable to speak. Taking advantage of the fact that Paul was turned away from him, he slowly reached out, letting his fingertips brush the material lightly. He couldn’t deny the shiver that ran through him, from his fingertips to his toes. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let out a deep breath as he ran his fingers along the material, carefully so Paul wouldn’t realise what he was doing.

Paul finished up the batter and reached for the tin which John had greased up a few minutes before. He didn’t seem to notice John’s touching at all, so John began to be a little bolder. He let his fingers move down to the end of the skirt and began to lightly raise it up, feeling how his throat got dry as he exposed more and more of Paul’s bare skin. He bit his lip as he stared, wanting so badly to feel. To touch. And why shouldn’t he? They were alone and Paul and he had been together for nearly two years. Surely he wouldn’t mind if he-

“John!” Paul squealed, jumping slightly, causing some of the batter to fall end up on outside of the tin, rather than into it. Shocked, John quickly pulled his hand back, not even having realised he had actually started to caress the back of Paul’s thigh. The younger man cursed as he tried to scoop up some of the batter and still get it into the tin. On his cheeks lay a slight pink blush. John grinned at that and put his hand back on Paul’s leg, this time sliding the kilt up, letting his hand disappear underneath it. The contrast of Paul’s slightly hairy legs under the kilt was almost sinful. He watched Paul’s face attentively, smiling when he saw Paul biting his lip and his fingers tighten around the spoon he was holding.

“John… not here. Come on. Stanley could come back any minute.” Paul told him, trying his best to keep his voice straight, but failing nonetheless.

“But you look so good, Paul. You have no idea how good you look in your skirt.” Paul whispered, his voice deliberately low, knowing from experience Paul liked his voice best that way. Paul shuddered as he let his hand move up higher, stroking him and moving between Paul’s thighs, pressing his legs apart. To his surprise, Paul let him.

“I-It’s a kilt, John.  You can’t find this sexy, it’s-”

“Traditional,” John said, cutting Paul off, “I know. But I’d still fuck you right here if I could.” And with that last he slid up his hand all the way, cupping Paul’s cock in his hand from behind, frowning in slight disappointment when he felt Paul was still wearing underwear. Paul, however, gasped at the sudden feeling of Paul’s hand around his cock and quickly turned around, pulling John hand away forcefully.

“Not here!” He shot at John in a warning tone, but something in his hazel puppy eyes told John it was rather reluctantly. He grinned at him, but pulled his hand away anyway. He didn’t miss the way Paul had to swallow down a whine of disappointment.

“Hello boys! The cake nearly done?” A voice suddenly came from the hall. Both John and Paul turned around in shock and stared at John’s cousin as he appeared in the doorway, a smile on his face. Paul seemed to be at lost for words for once, blinking at him and opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, so John spoke instead.

“Yeah. We were just about to put it in the oven.” John told him quickly and Stanley nodded.

“Right. So, what do you think of Paul’s new kilt, eh?”

“It makes him even more of a girl than he already was, the poor lad. How dare you, Stan!” John joked, laughing. The slap he got on his arm from Paul for it was totally worth it, though. Stanley went to leave them to finish the cake and John got scolded by Paul for feeling him up in his aunt’s kitchen, but John was only half listening, his fingers already having found Paul’s kilt again. Paul didn’t say anything, though, and merely slapped his hand away. And again. And again.

            During lunch it became clear that Paul had decided to stay away from John as much as possible to make sure thing like that didn’t happen anymore. He had taken a seat opposite John, and had only smiled when John had frowned at him. Sadly for him, his aunt asked John to get the cake from the oven, meaning he had to get up again and switched places so he was next to Paul again. The boy grumbled something under his breath, but he didn’t have any more time to change seats, as Stanley and Mater took the remaining seats before he had the chance. John truly believed at that moment that the gods were in favour of him playing as much as possible with the kilt now he had the chance.

At first he left him alone, wanting Paul to be relaxed and a lot less tense for what he had in mind. They ate and drank and talked about all kinds of things. Mater asked if the boys would want to go somewhere during the weekend, but neither felt like it, preferring the be alone and at home, especially now there were both shifting awkwardly in their seats due to a certain ache in their pants.

After a few minutes, though, John began to grow impatient. Stanley was talking about his work, so John took the opportunity of this particularly boring conversation to lightly rest his hand on Paul’s knee, smirking as he felt Paul twitch against him. Almost immediately, he crossed his legs, having a very good idea what John was planning on doing. Damn him.

Still, John wasn’t so easily defeated. He asked Stanley a few questions to keep him talking as he slid his hand higher up Paul’s leg, slipping his fingers beneath the material of the kilt and playing with the hairs on Paul’s skin as he drew teasingly little circles. Paul took in a sharp breath at that and tried to push John’s hand away, but John was persistent, so instead he let his hand slide up even further, so his fingers brushed the boy’s underwear. Keeping his eyes on his aunt and cousin, he leaned towards Paul to whisper into his ear.

“Come on, Macca. It’s your fault for wearing such a pretty skirt.”

“Kilt!” Paul hissed back at him through clenched teeth, making John roll his eyes, “and no!”

“But you’re so pretty like this. I can’t stop touching you, dear. It’s just too easy.”

“You don’t seem to have the same trouble with Cynthia when she’s wearing a skirt!” Paul hissed back and John grinned.

“I thought you said this wasn’t a skirt. Besides, you want it. I know you do. I bet you’re already completely hard. If only you’d let me-”

“Piss off!”

“Gladly.” John whispered back, before pulling away from Paul and quickly finishing his last bite. Paul stared at John with amazement, not having thought that would have worked, but he had been to quick in his celebration, for John grabbed Paul’s wrist and pulled him up from his seat as John got up.

“I’m sorry, Mater, but Paul doesn’t feel that great. We er… he needs an aspirin so I’m taking him upstairs to find one.” John lied as if it was nothing with an apologetic smile on his face. His aunt looked up in shock and her eyes darted to Paul before nodding. Quickly, John dragged Paul with him and let him upstairs.

            As soon they had reached their shared room, he pulled Paul inside and forced him back against the door, shutting him up with a kiss before Paul had the chance to complain. However, judging by Paul’s enthusiasm in the kiss, John doubted he would have done it.

“Shit.” John mumbled, pressing his entire body against Paul’s and trapping him between him and the door, groaning as he felt Paul’s hardened cock through the material of their clothes. Paul huffed a laugh and grabbed at John’s shirt with both hands and he forced their lips together again, licking into John’s mouth eagerly, making John stand hard in his trousers.

“Fuck you look good in that stupid thing.” John growled as he pulled away from Paul’s lips to move his kisses to Paul’s neck, where he suckled a nasty bruise on Paul’s skin. The younger lad merely whined and thrusted his hips up in frustration.

“I know you’d break when you saw me in this. You’re so damn weak, Lennon.” Paul mumbled and he gasped as John thrusted his hips into Paul’s, rubbing their cocks together. John grinned into the crook of Paul’s neck at his words.

“Oh, so that’s how it is. You planned this, didn’t you? Acting all innocent and all. Such a little slut, you are.”

“Hmm… only for you, John. Although I didn’t think you’d give in this easily. Then again, you never were one for self-control. Now, get on with it.” Paul groaned, wrapping a leg around John’s waist to pull him closer, needing him, needing his touch. John nodded eagerly at that, and swiftly raised up Paul’s kilt, exposing all of Paul’s legs this time and telling Paul to hold it up with his teeth, which the younger man did with a cheeky little wink in return. John felt himself get dizzy at the sight of Paul biting down the kilt and quickly looked down, groaning as he pushed Paul’s underwear down and took his heavy cock in his hand, taking in the all the wonderful sounds Paul was making eagerly as he started to stroke him. Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head at the long desired friction and thrusted his hips up, doing his best to fuck John’s hand.

The sight of his younger lover was almost too much for John. His cock was twitching almost painfully in his own trousers and he wished he could fuck Paul against the door right now, but he knew they didn’t have enough time. He let go of Paul reluctantly and Paul whined at the loss, before moving his own hand down to do it himself. As soon as John noticed he grinned at Paul’s eagerness, but he didn’t say anything. He quickly freed himself from his trousers and took himself in hand, hissing at the sparks of pleasure that shot through him. He squeezed himself and captured Paul’s mouth with his own again, the kilt falling between them, as he took them both in one hand, wanking them both at the same time. Paul went weak against him, moaning John’s name softly into the man’s hot mouth as he pulled John closer with his leg. The kilt rubbed against his bare legs, making him shiver and he wished he could ride John in it. Maybe later.

“Come on, John. I’m so fucking close.” Paul breathed after a few minutes, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead as he breathed into John’s mouth, sharing the same air. John nodded and squeezed them both in his hand before wanking them faster, twisting his wrist and making Paul let out a faint cry as he felt pleasure built up inside him, ready to explode.

“Yes. That’s… oh fuck, John.” Paul moaned, needing just that little bit more and John nodded, closing his mouth around Paul’s ear to suckle on, knowing it was one of his friend’s weak spots. Sure enough, Paul let out another weak cry before raising a hand to bite down into to muffle his groans, as he came. His cock twitched in John’s hand and he came into John’s hand, spasming against him. John groaned at the feeling of Paul coming violently against him, enjoying the feel of Paul’s velvet cock throbbing against his own and with two last stroked his came as well, their cum mixing together in his hand. Exhausted, their legs gave out underneath them and carefully they moved down the door to slump against it instead as they caught their breath.

“From now on,” John said after a few minutes, “you’re not allowed to wear anything else but that fucking kilt, understood?” Paul chuckled at that and kissed John sweetly on the lips before nodding.

“Whatever you want, John.” He muttered back and John smiled, before cupping Paul’s face in his hands and kissing him again, forgetting for a moment his one hand was still filthy with cum. Paul, however, didn’t seem to mind at that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was graciously imported from tumblr by [CJD](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com/) who is a good friend and overall pretty amazing. Suck it, Puck


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